


Black Milk

by Deiwimin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Delusions, Heavy-ish Gore, Het Gangrape At Start, Infection, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mutilation, Sexual Abuse, Torture Porn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiwimin/pseuds/Deiwimin
Summary: Kinkmeme Prompt From ViolentGoth:"Ramsay breaks open Theon's ribcage, teasing him and touching his insides. He tells him how warm and wet his heart feels, while Theon slowly bleeds out."
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Thramsay2020 Kinkmeme Event





	Black Milk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ViolentGoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentGoth/gifts).



> These few months have been quite the stressing haze, but after a while I finally got to calm down a bit and finish the story! Warning: May have a certain charm for sensitive stomachs so, beware? It is what it is.

The cell gate swung in front of Reek, brightness flooding him. He came alone. Reek’s master didn’t need his men to handle the creature Turncloak had become. Reek curled and sat up more, eyes attentive to the bastard’s every move. What Ramsay came for, never fared well for Reek. He liked to experiment a lot, his master.

Snow brought him up, kissing his cheek. Reek shivered, slowly turning away. “What, are you displeased with my kindness?” Reek’s eyes bulged as he heard the words. “No, m’lord forgive me, Reek was only surprised, that was-” Reek’s heart nearly stopped, when he realised he had started a plead with a ‘no’. But it mattered not, Ramsay’s eyes softened after hearing the poor worded reason.  
The bastard turned, and urged his leal creature to follow according. Reek shifted, and came with his master to the outside. His thin legs hurt from strain, his weak ankles struggled to hold the hefty chains around and trailing behind them. But he took it anyway. His arm felt tight from a brand fresh as two nights past. It reminded him the red black pains, and blinding agony. The floor was caked in dark filth and staining grime. It would be bloody from where he was; in the depths, and would gradually fade to pissed-on stone as they made a way outside.  
He dreamt wedding Eddard Stark’s daughter last night. Her hair was a gentle red, and the eyes, electric sea. It had not been him, it was a man with a name, and a place Reek could only imagine to know. But she had been a blurred soft and happy, sipped her goblet clean. Called for more, and that same man poured for her, then to himself. They stumbled, clouded with hunger upon the marital bed and then...and then he couldn’t.

They passed cells with dead, cells with maimed, screamers of all skins, and what haunted him were the pleading and the crying. Ones who were only just situated and wouldn’t know, understand what did await for each. Reek saw Skinner’s boots passing. He could recognise them from the pattern and a contrasting pale, worn out fleck. Ramsay and his freak stepped the stone stairs, Reek’s knee stiffening. He struggled to hoist the leg on with his hands. Ramsay twisted round, and encouraged him, settling his arm around Reek’s waist. The creature managed to twist enough to allow ease. His strained joints had began to rust it seems, and almost felt his bones coldly crumbling from the inside.

Ascending, there had more shoes. Grunt’s black as night, Damon’s pointed and tinted red, and Yellow Dick’s a new dirt brown. Reek did not linger his gaze much more. They were with Blood and other steeds. “Is it us five then, boys?” Damon smirked, as well as the rest. “Five? I only see four men and their four legged friends.” Ramsay smiled back, finding humour in the jest. “Oh now don’t be so rough on little Reek. And he was so looking forward to our hunt too. Maren has such a pretty pair of teats, I’m sure Reek would want to see them both. You’ll watch the whole time; won’t you, Reek.” Reek shook. “Of course, m’lord.” More knowing smiles and chuckles passed around them.

Reek rode with Alyn, clutching mindlessly on his belt. His remaining fingers were so thin they looped around the leather as they all galloped, Sour Alyn barely taking notice. Reek’s stink, and Alyn’s breath. They complimented one another really. Down below them, were Ramsay’s loyal girls, sniffing, crowding the woods. Red Jeyne dashing away at the front, and Maude tightly attuned to her sense of direction. Damon was the only one howling. He looked over at Blood, and Reek saw the most chilling grin on a face. Ramsay Snow was patting his stealthy ride, listening for barks as the bitches took far from their hunting. Reek imagined being dropped for a moment. He wished it would all be fine then, forgotten and most important of all; no-one truly. But he held onto Sour Alyn, anyway.  
They reached the barking in time to spot a running girl, a new bitch, if she made good for a hunt. It seemed not, as she merely flinched and whimpered, flailing about in Grunt’s arms. Her cheeks streamed, and she sobbed shakily. Ramsay wiped off the tears, and she choked out words she knew wouldn’t help. “Please, p-lease...” she saw there was no mercy in these beasts. In her time serving, she wouldn’t even dare so much as think on them, but now as a dying woman everything came a spindle. She wept as they pushed her around, urging her to rise. She couldn’t do it. Maren swore at them hysterically and wept. She looked down then, and waited for the worst as they all leered and laughed. They soon made the girl screech and cringe lower than before.

Skinner readied a pair of iron hooks, and they hung her upside down. Her knees were pierced rudely, and left stung up, dangling from a tree. She stopped screaming by then and silently held back more sobs. Her eyes were draining themselves and she pleaded more, as they beat her like a piece of meat. She swayed from the creaking branch, crying openly but drily hoarse. They taunted her as they whipped and strapped her. Her ripped up joints agonized her, and the shame of her dress and knees ripped apart was unbearable. Reek closed his eyes for a while, and when they opened, Ramsay had her mandible in his red, dripping hand. She choked and gurgled, even after she was unhooked. Having not long to live, they skinned and took her coinciding, riding out the very ends of her. Ramsay kept Maren’s breasts. He tossed one to one of the boys, congratulating him on the new purse. He brandished the other, satisfied with the shape. There were plenty of parchments to weight with such a heavy teat, he told them.

Reek gagged in spite of himself. Something shattered in his mind and he drooled out acrid spit. He had seen the hunts before, what was done. This must have been his worst of them all. The poor girl was docile in hapless ferity. He stood by watching, being Ramsay’s creature. And the creature stared through the torn out breast, brain turning limp and heavy. He was rewarded for his stillness with a pat on the back, and did not miss how Ramsay’s eyes levied in fitful mirth.

“Reek,” Ramsay made him look up, into those chilling eyes. He suddenly held Reek close and whispered. “Do you know who you live for?” His face felt against his cheek, now both smeared bloody. He would surface new questions each time he took him outside of his cell. Sometimes they were easy, and others very hard on his blunted mind. But he knew what to answer. He learned. “You, my master.” Reek knew what to say, and at times forced himself in believing such. When Ramsay Snow spoke, he had to answer with loyalty. Else where was his faith to be?

_I already carry your poisons in me._

Reek was tasked to carry the hooks. They left her half eaten remnants behind, but they were not wasting the good iron to her. Reek reached for the tree, eyes fleeting away from her, focused on the other ends. He untied the second one but it fell on his knee, piercing it. He gasped a low whimper and crouched himself to the bloody grass. He finally resolved himself to stand his weak frame and let one of the men dislodge it. His blood felt almost black.

They returned, and Reek was in his cell. He stared at the wall; away from his chains, between the hollow cracks. “Reek” he whispered. “Reek, Reek. Rhymes with bleak.” He huddled into his worn knees and blinked into the stone. It suddenly darkened, only that was impossible. Then he only remembered, they closed his cell’s slit so he mustn’t have heard it shut. His eyes always blood red, bloomed thick a web of threads. He awaited the morning until he drifted and saw lights. It wasn’t his master. It was a guard who gave him an apple. In his gratitude he grovelled and thanked the man and his own master from far distances.

He would often take work. Reek was sometimes merchandise to display and others a grey rag in the corner of a dark hall. When he received eyes, it was the worst crime. Ramsay would punish Reek for centring himself. A lowly bitch should have no pride. He didn’t mean to make them stare. Though lord Ramsay whipped him bloody for the insolence each time.

xXx

Tonight he was called upon from the kennels up to his lord’s chambers. He stared him up, then to places Reek would rather hide. He could see Lord Ramsay’s lip curl, looking through Reek’s distress. However many times he did so Reek wished to choke on his own fear and shames, dying an ephemeral end. But Reek is Ramsay’s. Is he not?

And he stared at the velvets and wood and stone. The chest with chaffed edges, that shone itself at the bed’s end. Reek took off the chain, his sword, the knives, the doublet, breeches, until there was none. Reek serviced him that night with his mouth as he was taught to, and after he came, he let Reek’s mouth go with a pop. Lord Ramsay looked too tired to play. As he fell on the bed he mumbled for Reek to take his leave. He left the door with an empty stomach yet again, and one of the guards took him back to his black cell. Reek thought wildly to himself. Wondering what his own fingers would taste like. His head felt ill and dazed.

Reek realised he slept the longest in a time. His throat hurt and coarsed. It hurt to swallow, and as he gradually opened his eyes, Reek realised he was burning in abnormal heat. It was only a moment before he saw nothing and a sheet of black flashed on his eyes. And then the maester was there. He couldn’t quite hold what was happening, until he realised he wasn’t in his little cave anymore. His head spun a lot before he mustered the focus to watch the hands’ movement on the table. He went about, seemingly unaware of Reek. Reek worried he had died and this was his punishment. To wander through the dreadfort halls deprived of all company. Around pain and rattling screams.

A while after the door creaked. And lord Ramsay was there; for him. But he turns to maester Wolkan, not glancing once at his abominable wretch. The Reek he so owns.  
“Your...creature my lord, Reek, is gone.”

But Reek was here, solid in his form, what game be this one? He is right on the wood, laid and too wear to weep, perhaps now mourn. When Reek’s lord gave him his ringéd hand, he burned by unrestful ashes and ill-tried peace. He felt a horn then, a drum, something of a damning sound. His only life was in truth gone. “Do not forget you are all mine still.”

_And your poisons have run too deep._

He softly wailed and the ground shook for him. Ramsay’s lamb was frail and lost to aberrant sense. Only he held say in matters of fate. Well and justly, he had choices in his Reek. And he said things of Ramsay’s belonged to him forever. So he said that day as well, taking to consummate all doubt at night.

XxX

Reek found himself in frightened, choked screaming as he was hauled into a dark dungeon floor. They slammed him carelessly on a rugged dais. His ears whirred him blind and someone rudely forced water down his throat. Reek was so scared and confused, only one thing was clear in his vision, and that was the much clay and many more knives around him.

He remained still for a while, in wait. Reek had not known what any of it meant; and Theon had been too frightened to speak. When Ramsay stepped in alone, he noticed his lord's sleeves were marked a damp red about the edges. Reek shifted ever so light, and there came a gentle caress. Blood grazed Reek's arm, and and he removedly thought, that if the blood was Ramsay's, Ramsay's veins must have streamed purple rivers.

They stayed unmoving, for a long while, Ramsay’s face contemplating. Eyes all searing. Ramsay finally smiled upon his creation, so serene. And Reek’s stomach dropped. His lord held a wolf bone knife, and Reek’s sight would not unbind from it. Ramsay’s hands trailed all over Reek. “Do not forget I own you Reek. Doing so would be a foolish misdeed.” Then Reek felt gracelessly unfilled and gone. He trembled slightly, as Ramsay brought his fingertips to dance over his throat. 

A throat which dented and tensed, pushing down doubts and fears. Ramsay sighed sentimentally, tracing at his present veins. “You are always my precious Reek.” And Reek did not like that. Reek liked feeling cherished. It meant no starvation, no flayings. But this seemed a cruel jest at his expense. And if Reek knew one thing or more, jests and games bore painful consequences. Ramsay held out his hand, and Reek leaned into it of instinct. He looked up, doe eyed, and suddenly Ramsay’s features twisted pink. His wrinkled face could not hide the black rage and red displeasure at his creation. Somehow all came unclear, protecting him from immediate terror. Reek did not enjoy the occurrence, though he was unsure whether he should feel upset. He felt solid again after a moment, and his dread set upon him once more. Ramsay’s eyes were his baleful road.

Ramsay touched and poked at his blackened thigh. It was no use. It wasn’t a leg anymore. Reek couldn’t bring himself to look. But he was made to either way.

When the lord Bolton clutched his wrists, Reek watched as Ramsay merged them, as if absurdly urging his dog to pray. “I trust you Reek,” And he brought Reek’s hands over his little head. He was bound without chain, rope or threat, but devoted will. “you have betrayed me.” His pounding heart stopped. “And still, I forgive you.” But Reek may not have wished for this forgiveness at all.

Ramsay grew quieter, and angrier by time. “You will never leave me, my darling Reek; I will have you forever. Because you are mine, remember?” It must have been something in his vision, a pale white lash, or a grain of ash, because a droplet rolled down Reek’s cheek, unblinking, unprompted. Another part of Reek was in panicked flight, which had loud, harsh colours to it. The meek creature looked away from the cruel flashes. Ramsay hadn’t been as kind then, and Reek felt it as his tormentor and master plunged a blade, sliding it deep across his arm. He grunted and moaned lowly, feeling faint and spinning. So Ramsay gave him milk of the poppy. Reek felt wet and awful.

The wood soaked and dripped, as he was stripped off his right hand above it. Ramsay only absorbed his art, and shushed his whimpering Reek, stroking his ashy matted hair. “I’m keeping you, sweet Reek.” And his eyes were full of warmth. Ramsay had a voice for poetic call. When he chose to he could make ringings soften and reach brief galene. He seldom used such tone outside of the hall with ladies and lords, though you’d see it melt off any white pit. But Reek did not know what to feel. A flash of hate came over his weak mind and it left so in haste as it appeared to baseless waters. He hurt. He remembered it was truly what he felt, the sensation Reek has known his entire life and this time it was acrid, bitter.

It hurt when his chest was opened and slick. It ached when fingers trailed his wet flesh, prodding and rubbing. The terror came back to Reek just like the shadow reaching him. Two big hands on his stomach, firmly stretching his cut, using his knife to slice deeper and deeper. Reek had not much meat on his bones, nor fat on his skin, and yet it felt like he was cruelly torn apart for hours. Ramsay trailed down his muscle like a feather with armoured lip.

Ramsay watched him taking shaky breaths, his little breaths creating faint mists in the cold cell. He watched Reek’s insides squirm and pulse. He couldn’t help but feel it under his fingers. “I want you awake Reek,” green eyes stayed on him, and Ramsay smiled kindly. “I want you giving yourself to me, as you always do.” And Reek struggled even more with his gasps as Ramsay ran himself down the ropes of his belly. Ramsay inhaled his scent. His pure and thickened red. Sighing, he nudged just a small piece out. He played with it, and the red hot blood poured generously on the stone. “You’re magnificent, little Reek.” But Reek could barely hear the words as Ramsay’s fingers hooked around his ribs. “Such a pretty little body. It makes up for your rind, does it not?” Ramsay stared down and he knew Reek couldn’t speak from the pain. He gave him a spiteful grin, his sharp fang flashing for a split moment. “Well you see, I want all of it.” His grip tightened on the brittle bones.

“All of which you stupidly assumed I’d allow you take from me.” Ramsay vanished so shortly he could have never left Reek’s ever unclear vision. He held a pair of- pincers? No, no mercies.

Before he kept a response to the frightening instrument; he heard a crunch and another, his chest was plied inside out and He screamed the coarsest scream as the rest were snapped away. It was his last scream and he lay there, watching it all fade him to glowing whites and reds, barely seeing his chipped ice. Ramsay stained him all over as he pet his hair tenderly. “Mhh. Oh, Reek. You know exactly how to suck up. Also why you’re my favourite bitch. I can never stay too mad, seems to be.” He held Theon’s heart from underneath, feeling it faintly thud. “Your heart is so wet, did you know? So hot my winter hand is warmed. Even now you tempt me. It’s in your very being.” 

Reek stayed silent, and Ramsay thumbed his strings and reins. He reached the back and found something he squeezed too tightly upon. It so poured out. The black milk dripped into his clay. So that was where the first piece goes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it was an enjoyable read!!


End file.
